


This Place That Life Has Known

by Shriek



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:31:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shriek/pseuds/Shriek
Summary: "And there, not yet removed from the cross, whether it be by luck or superstition, there is the white snow-dappled, multicolored coat of Mollymauk Tealeaf."





	This Place That Life Has Known

On the side of the Glory Run road, not too far from Shady Creek Run, there is a grave. The earth is still freshly upturned, the grass yet to grow back in and reclaim the spot. This in and of itself isn’t unusual; there are plenty of graves, both new and old, scattered across the harsh plains. Death often accompanies travel in these parts. What makes the grave stand out is its marker, an ostentatious multicolored coat. It draws the eye, the only splash of color in the snow-covered landscape.

\----

A family stops for a much needed rest beside the grave, feeling safe under the quietly watchful gaze of the dead. The parents pay their respects before starting in on preparing a meal. May the gods welcome this soul with open arms.

Children reach out to touch, enchanted by the intricate embroidery, and pay no heed to swift reprimands. A soft wind rushes through, making the coat flutter and sending flurries of snow into the air, glittery and distracting. _Mind your parents, now._ The children chase snowflakes through the grass, laughing with delight.

\----

A lone traveler stays the night by the grave, comforted in his own loss by the idea of the vibrant presence any wearer of such a coat must have had. He sleeps, for once, without dreams, and wakes well rested. Before he leaves he tucks a silver piece he found on the ground into the pocket of the coat.

“For luck.”

\----

A group of thieves slow their horses when they approach the coat.

“Think that’s worth anythin’?” one says, nodding his head towards the grave’s marker.

“We can’t steal from a grave! That’s how ye get yerself haunted! Or cursed!”

A crack of thunder echoes, too close for comfort, as if to emphasize his point. The man sends up a quick prayer, rote at this point, for forgiveness, for mercy. The others grumble and roll their eyes, but they pass the coat by. The storm keeps its distance.

\----

A month goes by, and many people pass the coat. Some stop to contemplate, some move quickly from the reminder of death, but all leave the coat untouched. Until a blizzard descends on the land, and a desperate woman sees salvation on the horizon in a flash of red.

She stumbles to the coat with apologies on her numb lips, and slips it from its makeshift display. It’s not thick, certainly not made to shield someone from the weather, but it’s better than the rags she wears beneath it. The woman huddles deeper into the soft material with a shiver. She looks down at the sleeves, her thumb brushing over the vibrant stitching, and she finds the strength to keep walking.


End file.
